Moving So Gracious
by The Croc Shop
Summary: Pre-film. When a girl walks in with an itty bitty waist and a round thing in your face, you get feelings. Or: six times Megamind checked out Roxanne's derriere.
1. And I Don't Hardly Know Her

Disclaimer: I do not own nor do I claim to own any characters or concepts related to _Megamind_. This is a nonprofit work of fanfiction. The summary is a joke nicked from _Shrek_; if you've seen the gag karaoke ending, you get it. The title, **Moving So Gracious**, is from the song "Big and Chunky" by Will I Am, and the subtitle for this part, "And I Don't Hardly Know Her," hails from the song "Crimson and Clover" by Tommy James and Peter Lucia, Jr. (Flash Fact: My favorite cover of "Crimson and Clover" is by Joan Jett and the Blackhearts.) I don't own any of that, either.

This is a five times fic, specifically: five times Megamind checked out Roxanne's derrière. Much like Tina Fey, I love that Roxanne has short, brown hair and an ample can.

This particular piece is set early in Megamind and Roxanne's professional supervillain and kidnapee relationship.

* * *

**Moving So Gracious**  
And I Don't Hardly Know Her

* * *

Chatter rose to fill the arches of the ceiling and the vast spaces between. Voluminous though the ballroom in scope and scale, the crowd of men and women in glittering dress and gown filled it so walking between the tables was a fool's errand at best. Megamind sent Minion off to procure drinks and maintained court at their own table. The ring of empty chairs tucked neatly about the table proved a dissatisfactory audience. He fiddled with one of the forks, plucking at the tines, and thought of his lair, quiet and dark and cool.

Megamind set the fork down. Where was Minion with the drinks? Forget socializing; that was a bust. Drinks, then they'd raid the buffet. God, he hoped there was a buffet. He didn't think he could handle the inanity of a sit-down dinner in such snooty company. He eyed a rather brightly bejeweled woman standing nearby. Perhaps a little robbing, too.

"What are you doing here?"

He started, cracking his knees on the table. The fork jumped and fell, ringing as it struck the polished floor. Roxanne Ritchi towered over him, her small mouth a pursed bow. She held her handbag as if it were a sword.

Megamind rubbed at his knees and said, "I'm sitting, Miss Ritchi. It's the latest craze."

She swept her shaped bangs back from her eyes. Beneath the shimmering light of the chandelier, her hair, long and coiled at the back of her head, shone a dark and burnished red.

"Why are you here?" She enunciated slowly, punctuating each word with a sharp, staccato pause.

He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers at his breast. "Oh, didn't you know? I'm good friends with the chairman. You know us innovators, we're such a close-knit group. A goggle of pals."

"Gaggle," she said, "and you don't have pals. Unless you mean your little robot friends." She glanced over her shoulder, then she looked back to him, her eyebrows crooked. "And I don't see them here."

"I do have an invitation," he offered. He reached into his studded jacket and withdrew a corner of the envelope. Certainly it was forged, but what Roxanne Ritchi didn't know couldn't hurt him.

"There is no way that's a legitimate invitation," she said.

"Oh, it's very legitimate, I assure you," he said. He drew the envelope out and presented it with a flourish. The seal was his masterpiece, so beautifully designed. He'd copied it, of course, but still he rather liked it.

Roxanne bent over him. Her eyes narrowed. She'd worn a wine red gown, cut low and square across her breasts, and against that deep shade her eyes showed a pale blue.

"Let me see that," she said. She reached for the envelope.

"Oh, no," he said quickly, "I don't think so." He slipped the envelope back into his pocket. "You'd probably just steal it and try to get me thrown out. I didn't think you would stoop so low, Miss Ritchi," he tsked.

She gave a gasping laugh, a sort of incredulous "Ha!" and straightened. A wisp of hair fell against her cheek and impatient, she brushed it away.

"Not everyone is as petty as you are, Megamind," she countered.

"I'm not petty," he said, "I'm evil. There's an important difference. One is dignified, distinguished, the other..." He gestured, calling for the word. "Juvenile."

"Mm, that last one," she agreed. "That sounds about right."

"And what of you, Miss Ritchi?" he shot back at her. "What brings you to this gala event?"

He took in her dress: deceptively simple, but cut to hug her curves, of which she had many, and to hang in clinging lines. She stood very near to him. Megamind looked away, as if to search the crowd.

"I'm not interrupting a hot date, am I?"

She parried: "Why would you want to know?"

He looked back to her, standing there resplendent. She'd a freckle at the corner of her mouth. He hadn't noticed that before.

"I'd just hate it if something awful were to ruin your date," he said.

"Well, I'm not on a date," she said lightly, "so you don't have to worry about me."

"Then I won't," he said. Even to him it sounded weak. He recovered. "Now if you don't mind, Miss Ritchi, I'm very busy."

She considered the empty table, the immaculate places set at even intervals about it, the chairs so nicely positioned. Megamind attempted to look very important and very disinterested.

"I can see that," she said, very drily.

She took a step nearer and leaned toward him. Her necklace, a silver chain strewn with gleaming drops, swung out over her breasts.

"I know you're planning something," she told him. "And I'm going to figure it out."

"Oh, are you?" he murmured.

Roxanne smiled, a narrow, certain smile that drew one corner of her mouth high. She brought her handbag up, tossing it between her hands, and walked off. Her heels clacked a steady rhythm on the floor. The sleek fabric of her dress shimmered, clinging to her heavy backside; her skirt shivered along her thighs as she vanished back into the crowd.

"Was that Miss Ritchi?"

Megamind turned, dropping his hand. Minion held out a glass. The wine shone, a deep red.

"It's always nice to see someone you know at a thing like this," Minion said happily.

"Minion, change of plans," Megamind said. He snatched the wineglass from Minion. "We're staying."

"Wait," Minion said. "We were leaving?"

"I just had the most interesting discussion with Miss Ritchi," Megamind informed him, "and I'd hate to disappoint her." He drained the glass and set it down, then he made a face, scraping his tongue between his teeth.

"Sir," Minion said plaintively, "I thought we were going to take tonight off. Remember? To recoup?"

"Yes, yes, I remember." Megamind waved him off. "And what better way to recuperate from our losses than to rob everyone here blind?" He turned to Minion. "Well?"

Minion sighed and sank low in his bowl. His robot avatar shrugged. "Yes. You're right, sir."

"Ha!" Megamind rose from his chair, spinning it away. He grinned fiercely at the milling crowd, so unsuspecting, so stupid. "If Miss Ritchi wants bad, then I'll give her bad."

"You're very bad, sir," Minion said.

"Yes," Megamind said, preening, "I am."

And oh, how self-righteous Roxanne would be when he turned this stuffy soiree into a real show, how she would shout. He could hardly wait to find out what she'd throw at him. What a fun evening this was turning out to be, he thought; and he laughed.


	2. Why Should I Care About a Bad Reputation

Disclaimer: I do not own nor do I claim to own any characters or concepts related to _Megamind_. This is a nonprofit work of fanfiction. The subtitle for this part hails from the song "Bad Reputation" by Joan Jett.

So here's the second part, then. Thanks to everyone who read, everyone who reviewed, and everyone who favorited the first part. I'm very glad you enjoyed it! Thank you. :)

* * *

**Moving So Gracious**  
So Why Should I Care About a Bad Reputation

* * *

Naturally the crowd parted for him. The line shivered, then broke. Megamind swept his cape about his shoulders and took his rightful position.

A single woman remained, blocking the counter. She wore her hair long, just past her slight shoulders, and it gleamed as she bent to rifle through her purse. Her hips rolled; she shifted her weight. He'd recognize those thick curves anywhere. He sneered at her back.

"Hello, Miss Ritchi," he said.

She neither jumped nor screamed. Roxanne simply stilled. Her shoulders tensed, and that coiling of muscle coursed all down her back to her thighs; then the tension ran out of her. She set her purse down on the counter.

"Who would ever have suspected we would meet here, in so humble a diner?" He surveyed the sub shop, taking in the simple decor, the bright primary hues.

She turned, hand on her cocked hip. "Are you stalking me?"

Megamind drew himself upright. Even so, she stood some few inches taller than him. Clearly he needed thicker wedges on his boots, the better to leer down his nose. He did his best with the materials at hand.

"I'm a supervillain, Miss Ritchi, not a predator."

"And where exactly do you draw that line?"

"Even evil has standards," he said as he would to a child, and a particularly recalcitrant child at that.

The blow missed. Roxanne continued as if he had not spoken.

"Because to be honest," she said, touching her collar, "from where I'm standing, following a girl into a sandwich shop is a little predatory."

Megamind regrouped. He raised his chin so his spiked collar, rising high behind him, framed his head like a hooked hand. He thought it masterfully sinister, but Roxanne only raised her eyebrow and smiled that small, dry smile of hers.

"Well, I'm not here for you," he told her. He gestured expansively, encompassing the narrow length of the shop. His cape fluttered from his arm. "I wish to sample this shop's wares so that when I take over Metrocity, I know whether to destroy it."

"Isn't that Minion's job?" She flicked her fingers toward the long serving counter. Two workers in aprons cowered behind the protective glass. She looked back to Megamind. "You know, to do the coffee runs, because heaven forbid Megamind get his own donuts."

She said this with some measure of disapproval, as if it weren't Minion's place to do all Megamind bid of him, as if it were not his purpose to serve without question. The thought unnerved him. But then, did Roxanne not understand her place? Had she ever behaved as befit a helpless captive of the peerless and diabolically brilliant Megamind? Hardly. She was far too busy snapping off hurtful one-liners and questioning his logic and arching her shaped eyebrows.

Megamind laughed scornfully.

"Minion," he emphasized, "is busy attending to some minor but important matters at the lair."

Her eyes lidded, lashes dropping sardonically low. Her eyes were very blue, and her round hip cocked higher beneath her hand. "So which is it, minor or important?"

He caved to temptation. Steepling his fingers and touching the tips to his chin, he smirked at her. "Oh, you'll find out soon enough. I think you'll find it very... electrifying."

Roxanne groaned. "The eels again? Can't you think of something else to put in the tank? Like sharks?"

"Do you have any idea how difficult it is to keep sharks?" he fired back. "The water filtration demands alone would triple my energy bills." Not that he paid them anyway.

"If sharks don't work, then use—" She cast about, then said triumphantly: "Alligators. Crocodiles. Jellyfish. Come on. Give me something new to work with."

He scowled. "Believe it or not, _Miss Ritchi_, your entertainment is of no concern to me. Merely your fear."

"Alligators might be kind of scary," she said. "Oooh, what about snapping turtles?"

"Ha ha, yes. We all understand sarcasm." He wriggled his fingers and rounded his eyes, then withdrew to the comforting and very horrifying confines of his cape.

Roxanne laughed and turned to her purse. A length of her hair slithered over her shoulder to press against her cheek, and she swept it back behind her ear.

"So what time should I expect the pick-up? Friday's no good for me. I have a date."

"A date? All the better," he said. "Metro Man could hardly leave his date in the clutches of evil."

"I'm not dating—"

"We'll have to postpone the mold missiles," Megamind said to himself, "but that might be a boon. Storms next week, then—"

Roxanne tossed her hands up. "Why do I even bother?"

"What? I couldn't possibly know," he said. "Your existential crises are so far below my notice as to be like ants or some other small and similarly insignificant insect. How's the meatball sub?"

She sighed, resigned. "It's all right, but I've had better. You might want to try the Rachel sandwich. Their pastrami's very good."

He scanned the posted menu. "Yes. Yes, I might."

Roxanne leaned forward over the counter to call, "Is my beef on weck ready?" Her skirt strained over her hips, her thighs.

Megamind looked briefly to her then again to the menu, but the smooth curve of her spine and the heavy bell of her rear drew his eye irresistibly to her. He wondered that she was shaped so: slim on top, thick below; his opposite in this way. The thought was alien and strangely discomfiting. His ears itched. He glowered at the menu.

One of the workers handed Roxanne her bag. She thanked him and dropped a tip in the coffee cup set up by the register. Such generosity! Megamind scoffed.

"Until we meet again, Roxanne Ritchi!" he called after her.

Roxanne elbowed the door open. The wind caught at her hair, whipping it over her shoulders; then the door swung shut, blown into place by the wind. He watched her as she walked quickly past the window.

"Can," one of the servers squeaked. "Can I help you, M-Mister Megamind, sir?"

He turned from the window. He was smiling, he found. The server stared up at him in terror. Megamind forced his brow down and scowled.

"I demand a the Rachel sandwich," he said, looming over the crouching server. "And if you dare skimp on the pastrami..."

"Right away!" the server cried.

There, Megamind thought. At least someone still respected evil.


	3. Extraordinary and Oh, So Cool

Disclaimer: I do not own nor do I claim to own any characters or concepts related to _Megamind_. This is a nonprofit work of fanfiction. The subtitle's from the song "Miss Kiss Kiss Bang" by Alex Christensen and Oscar Loya (Alex Sings, Oscar Swings).

Ack, two updates in one day? Yes, and I'm sorry, but I wanted to go ahead and post this before I wasted any more of my life agonizing over it. If it's a monstrosity, so be it; the deed is done.

There'll be a short delay before I post the fourth part. I'm working on a few other things and I need to focus on them for now. It shouldn't be too long, though. :) Thanks again to everyone for reading, for reviewing, for favoriting, and for just plain giving this a chance.

* * *

**Moving So Gracious**  
Extraordinary and Oh, So Cool

* * *

It was astounding, Megamind thought, how few channels aired anything of interest in the early hours of the afternoon. He spun idly round in the chair, listening to some greasy smudge of a man jabbering on about how much of what dish he intended to eat. The cheery painted zoo of smiling squirrels and lions beamed at Megamind. Dull. Dull, dull, dull. He'd another two days till his next breakout from Metro City Prison. He only hoped his brain hadn't rotted out by then.

"On my next food challenge," yapped the TV, "I'm going to take on the Ginger Grizzly—"

Megamind changed the channel. History Channel: a special on conspiracy theories involving Nazi ghosts. Discovery Channel: so-called engineers building so-called robots for so-called battle.

"Amateurs," he muttered.

Home and Garden, TLC, the bright and gaudy channels aimed at preteens and children with small minds, Animal Planet and other assorted Discovery subsidiaries, the Home Shopping Network (oh, he wondered if they still had the prison's number blocked): nothing. He rounded the networks and skipped back to the local channels.

The ABC and Fox affiliates were busts; did anyone really care about Mrs Thatcher's efforts to revitalize the city's gardening clubs? He pressed on to CBS, then KMCP 8, and thought of rewiring the television to explode.

"—xanne Ritchi, here in sunny Oldtown Metro City, where a local bookseller—"

He looked up. Roxanne smiled out of the television, her eyes squinching at the corners. The camera followed her as she walked decisively down the sidewalk, her hair long and dark against her throat. A rerun: he'd seen this special the week before at the lair. She gestured, her slim arm cast out to encompass the length of the block.

Megamind rested back in the chair. It was a hideous misuse of her talents, of course, to send her out to cover such meaningless efforts made by such small people. Wouldn't she be pleased when he gave her something interesting to report on. He could just imagine her outrage now. Megamind smiled. Two days and he would be out.

A loud knock drowned out Roxanne. He shifted, looking around the chair. The warden, sour as ever, glowered at him through the door's window.

"On your feet, Megamind. You have a visitor."

A visitor! Had Minion forgotten the schedule? Honestly. Megamind frowned, then threw on his most ingratiating smile. He spun about to face the warden.

"Oh, goodie. Is it Santa? I've been a very good boy this year."

"No such thing as Santa Claus," the warden said.

The door opened and a veritable parade of guards stomped in, tasers and manacles at the ready. Megamind stood and allowed them to shackle first his wrists, then his ankles, stringing the cuffs together. One of the guards yanked hard on his left knee, and Megamind thought briefly of tearing the man's taser from its holster and buzzing him in the armpit. Satisfying, but not worth the risk; he couldn't disarm all the guards before the other two brought their tasers down on him. And if it _was_ Minion who had come to see him—

"Oh, but I so wanted a kitten," he said sadly to the warden as the guards escorted him out.

The warden snorted. The door closed behind them. Two of the guards took up chains, and the third, the one who had wrenched his knee, took point, leading them down the corridors.

"Fact of life, Megamind," the warden said, following after him. "You can't always get what you want."

"Oh, but I might just find what I need," Megamind sang back.

Schedule be damned, he thought as they approached the high risk visitors room. If Minion had come early, that would give them time enough to put into motion a few warm-up exercises before the real caper. His knee twinged as he put weight on his left foot.

The point guard unlocked the door. He stood, stone-faced, as Megamind, trailing chains, swept past him.

"I hope you're on duty during the next riot," Megamind growled at him. The guard's nose wrinkled. Smug little rat.

"Now behave," the warden called after him.

Megamind laughed. "Don't I always?"

Then the door closed. The rat took a position before it, and the other two guards parted to stand by the walls, dragging the chains taut between them. The room was small, a bleak, metal box split in two by a thick glass wall run through with chickenwire, and the lights blazed brightly overhead, the effect stark and cold.

A woman stood on the other side of the partition. She was short and her hair was short, too, cropped close to her ears. She smoothed a fold out of her tight skirt as she straightened, her hand gliding over the thick swell of her hip. He knew that fat curve, and the realization struck him with sudden violence.

"Roxanne Ritchi," he said.

She'd cut her hair. The thought was uncomfortably electrifying. Roxanne tucked her bangs, her very, very short bangs, back from her eyes. They were very sharp and very blue, and when she looked at him he felt it like a knife dragged across his skin.

Megamind smiled. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"I'm here to see about getting an interview," she said. "A KMCP 8 exclusive with the bad boy of Metro City." She rounded the vowels on her tongue, as if on camera.

"And here I thought you missed me."

"Not a chance, Megamind," she said cheerfully. "You wouldn't believe how much work I've gotten done since Metro Man kicked your butt. Again."

"Oh, yes, I was just watching your special on the bookseller who saved the block from those terrible developers." He leaned forward. "Not exactly must see TV, if you know what I mean."

"His work helped four small businesses get back on their feet," she said, ticking off on her fingers, "and it's brought people back to Oldtown, which—" Her voice rose; such passion. "—is helping with the city's economic recovery."

He scoffed. "It's hardly a worthy use of your skills as an investigative reporter."

"Then you won't mind giving me that interview." She smiled, so certain, so teasing. "I'm sure the world's most diabolical genius could give me something worth talking about."

"Flattery, Miss Ritchi," he told her, "will get you everywhere."

Her smile deepened.

Megamind shifted, leaning away from the chains. His knee complained, locking beneath him. Roxanne leaned toward him, her head tipped. The short, jagged cut of her hair glimmered beneath the lights.

"But before we talk about me," he said, "how would you feel about an exclusive insider's look at Metro City Prison? Its culture, its power structure, the guards..."

The guard at the door stiffened; he heard the bullish man's shirt drawing tight over his shoulders. The chains clinked. The guard at his left shifted, uneasy.

Roxanne's eyes flickered, sharp beneath her lashes. She swept the room, gauging, then she slid into the poised persona she wore for the camera. Her brow smoothed; she cocked her round hips. Oh, but she was quick. He didn't know why that station wasted her.

She clicked her tape recorder on.

"So, Megamind," she said, "tell me about Metro City Prison. What was it like growing up here?"

"I'm very glad you asked," he said, smiling.

* * *

So, uh, like half of the TV jokes in the first section are entirely dependent on whether or not you're familiar with programming in the USA, so for those of you who aren't, this is the Memlu Explains Her Terrible Jokes portion of the day's events:

1) The guy jabbering on about food challenges is Adam Richman of Travel Channel's Man v. Food, the premise of which is, Adam travels about the country spotlighting popular regional foods and taking on eating challenges at local restaurants. I have no idea what a Ginger Grizzly would be but I think there's a good chance it would be delicious.

2) The History Channel once dealt with history, but those days are long gone. It now specializes in ghosts, Nazis, and conspiracy theories. If you actually catch a historical program on the channel, you should probably start freaking out; you've time traveled back to 1998.


	4. Stained Brown With Your Caffeine

Disclaimer: I do not own nor do I claim to own any characters or concepts related to _Megamind_. This is a nonprofit work of fanfiction. The subtitle's from the song "Coffee Girl" by MK Ultra.

So, I lied a bit when I said it might be a while until the next part. I didn't mean to, though! It was an accident? Anyway. Thanks, as ever, to everyone for your kind words and your interest! I'm so glad you've enjoyed the previous parts, and I hope you'll enjoy this one, too. Thank you. :)

* * *

**Moving So Gracious  
**Stained Brown With Your Caffeine

* * *

The concussive blast took out most of the wall and a portion of the ceiling as well. Megamind shook dust and discharged plaster from his cape, and he stepped into the opened hallway. Rubble crunched beneath his boots—what a sweet sound. He turned.

A man cowered, pressed against the far wall. A broken mug lay by his foot, now stained with coffee. Megamind loomed before him.

"Where," he snarled, "is Roxanne Ritchi?"

The man slithered down the wall and into a crouch. The crotch of his pants darkened, but he screwed his face up and shook his head, defiant even as he soiled himself.

Seriously? Megamind thought. He smiled nastily down at the man.

"Ahh," said Megamind. "A hero, are you? Well, let's just see about that."

He reached for his dehydration gun, snug in its holster at his thigh.

"Break room!" the man wailed. "Second floor! My wife! Three kids! Two weeks till retirement!" He clutched at his thinning hair and collapsed into tears.

Megamind patted the top of the man's head, his pate slick with sweat. "There, there. I'm sure they're all very proud of you." Then he left the man to his breakdown.

Grimacing, Megamind wiped his palm on the wall. Humans and their _fluids_. He hoped the salt didn't stain his leather.

The second floor break room was easy enough to find. Oh, the station map was of no use, but he cowed an intern into leading him directly to the room. He took the liberty of sabotaging a number of motivational posters set up along the corridors as they went along, just for kicks.

"This," the intern hiccoughed through her tears, "is muh, muh, my first day-hay." Her mascara ran in dark lines down her cheeks. He didn't envy her the clean-up.

Megamind laughed. "Ha ha, wow! Really? You took a job here? At this station? Don't you watch the news?"

"I'm fruh, from out of sta-hate," she sobbed. Snot dribbled onto her upper lip.

He twirled his dehydration gun around his index finger. Very cheerfully he told her, "Well, let me tell you, do you ever have some fun times to look forward to. Now run, before I decompress all the matter in your body."

She ran, weeping but not a fool. Good. He wasn't sure what the decompression option on his gun would do to a living creature, but he didn't really want to find out. His stomach churned at the thought.

Megamind took a breath, set his gun, and blew the door to the break room open. Through the clearing smoke, he spotted: two men dropping to their bellies, a woman diving behind the table, and another silhouette by the wall.

"Roxanne Ritchi!" he bellowed. "Prepare for your judgment!"

Roxanne resolved, coughing, out of the smoke. She wafted her hand before her eyes and straightened from the wall. A long, slender teaspoon stood up from her mug of coffee. A series of dark drops showed on her blouse, small petal-like stains framing her collar.

"I have pepper spray," she said. "And really, would it kill you to just open the door?"

He cast his cape about his shoulder and stooped beneath it. "I'm here to lodge a complaint, and I demand satisfaction."

"What, again?" She grabbed for a napkin. "The complaints department is on the fourth floor. That's what they're for. Complaints."

"You won't throw me off so easily this time, with your bureaucracy and your phone trees and your college freshman interns." He wiggled his fingers. God, the complaints department.

She blotted her collar. Her hair stuck up in tiny spikes: a new style, or simply bedhead she hadn't taken the time to correct. He would not think of her curled up in her bed, her short hair fanned out about her head—little red creases on her cheek where she'd slept on the folds in her pillow. No, that would be playing right into her manicured hands.

Roxanne sighed and tossed the napkin aside. It struck the lip of the bin, then fell in. One of the men, still sprawled flat upon the floor, ventured a golf clap.

"Fine," she said. "What is it now? Did I hurt your feelings?"

He sniffed. "It's going to take much more than your sassy quips to hurt my feelings, Miss Ritchi. No, this is regarding something far more serious: your journalistic integrity."

She laughed, incredulous, and folded her arms across her chest. "My _what_?"

"Regarding last night's broadcast!" He gestured violently with his gun, and the woman beneath the table squeaked. "A comprehensive examination of crime in Metrocity, and yet I couldn't help but notice you only mentioned me three times. Three times, Miss Ritchi!"

"Oh, is that it?" She relaxed. Her hip crooked, rounding. She leaned back against the wall and crossed her legs. The skirt drew tight over her thighs.

"I have a reputation, Miss Ritchi," he told her. "A very horrible, frightening, evil reputation that I have worked hard to maintain over the years."

She hummed agreement. Roxanne tapped the teaspoon lightly on the mug. He neared her, but though the man nearest whimpered as Megamind's cape brushed his shoulder, Roxanne did not lower her eyes. She sipped at her coffee. Her lips were very red and they left soft smudges on the mug.

He leaned in, and her lashes dropped low over her eyes. She smiled around the mug.

"Now," he said, "what does it tell people when you, the city's most beloved reporter, don't bother to talk about my criminal activities?"

"Mm, I see your point," she said, nodding. She cradled the mug to her chest. "Little detail, though. Just one I think you missed." She tipped her head. Her breath ghosted warm and bitter-scented over his cheek. "It's a four part series."

He paused. Her lower lip shone, slick with coffee. Her cheek dimpled. He blinked twice, clearing his eyes.

"It's a what?"

Roxanne settled. She looked out across the room. "It's an important issue. I thought it would be best if we spread it out, really gave everything the attention it needs."

"So there's more," he said, testing.

She smiled. "I think you'll like the next episode." Roxanne raised her hand, gliding it through the air before her: "'Megamind: Mayhem in Metro City.'"

"So— Wait." He frowned. "I get my own episode?"

Roxanne pursed her lips. She hitched her shoulder high. "You _are_ the master of all villainy."

"Oh," he said. Maybe he should have paid attention to the commercials.

Then he roused, shaking retrospection from his shoulders. He straightened, his chin set.

"Well, good. So long as you remember your place, Miss Ritchi. Cowering at my feet!" He stabbed his gun toward the ground, and the man nearest made an awful gurgling sound deep in his throat.

"Oh, yeah. I'm cowering," Roxanne said. She set her mug down. "Do you mind? I kind of have my job to do."

He started. "Oh, of course." Megamind stepped aside to allow her to slip past. Her hips rolled, her skirt fluttering at the backs of her knees; it clung tantalizingly to her rear.

"Until we meet again, Miss Ritchi!" he shouted after her.

"Right, I'll see you Thursday," she shouted back.

Then she was gone.

Megamind remained a moment in the break room, tapping the dehydration gun against his thigh. He felt restless, stirred up and left to simmer, thinking of the way she'd smiled over the mouth of the mug, her eyes crinkling—how she'd relaxed beside him as if—what?

"Um," one of the men ventured, "sir? Excuse me? Are you going to—"

He went ahead and dehydrated the both of them, then the woman as well. The itching in his chest settled some. It wasn't quite enough. Perhaps he'd see about blowing another wall or two down, and Roxanne _was_ here; surely it couldn't be too hard to snatch her. He might be able to draw Metro Man out. He needed a fight, Megamind thought.

He pushed away thoughts of Roxanne's skirt, thin over her thighs, and the little, folding corner of her red, red mouth as she smiled at him.

"Honestly," he said to the glowing blue cubes littered across the break room floor. "It's almost as if I cared about her." He laughed at the thought, then he passed out of the room, leaving the disquiet there.


	5. Wishing You Believed in Superstitions

Disclaimer: I do not own nor do I claim to own any characters or concepts related to _Megamind_. This is a nonprofit work of fanfiction. I nicked the subtitle off the song "Sitting, Waiting, Wishing" by Jack Johnson.

Well, I lied again, thoroughly unintentionally. What started as a five times fic is now a six times fic, because I just don't know how to shut up. There will be one more part to this thing and I ought to have it up soon. :)

Thank you again to everyone for reading, reviewing, favoriting, and what-have-you! I'm so happy and so pleased you've enjoyed these stories, and I hope you'll continue to enjoy them. Thank you.

* * *

**Moving So Gracious**  
Waiting, Wishing You Believed in Superstitions

* * *

Minion swept into the room, carting a tray. The bittersweet fragrance of dark chocolate rose thick in the air. Megamind's stomach turned, empty.

"Refreshments, Miss Ritchi?"

"Thank you, Minion," she said, pleased. She leaned over the tray and inhaled deeply, then sighed. "They smell divine. Are they crepes?"

"Actually," Minion said, "they're like crepes, but instead of milk, I used—"

"I knew this Hero's Legion business was a bad idea from the start," Megamind snapped. He turned round in the chair. He glowered up at the monitors, each screen a different news feed of the ongoing battle in New Star City. "While Mister Do Good is off battling this superpowered wannabe, I could be razing Metrocity to the retched ground from which it was raised."

"And yet, here we are," Roxanne said brightly. "And it's wret_ched_. You're supposed to accent the second vowel. Retched has a, uh, slightly different meaning."

Very slowly Megamind rolled his head so his quelling glare fell fully upon her. Roxanne remained unquelled, seemingly content to wear the explosives-rigged hat for the remainder of the afternoon. She bit into one of the pastries, her small mouth parting delicately. Her eyes rounded, her lashes dark, and the wry tension in the corners of her mouth smoothed. Megamind tightened his grip on the armrests.

"Oh," she said.

Minion sidled nearer. "So-o. What do you think?"

She turned to him, the pastry balanced lightly on her fingertips. "Minion, this is fantastic. This filling, the texture, is that—"

Minion fluttered in his bowl, delight shivering through his fins. "I thought the chocolate spread was a little sweet, so I mixed in some ricotta cheese for contrast. Do you like it?"

"It's delicious," she vowed, and she took another bite to prove it. Her lashes fluttered. She smiled around the pastry, a dab of chocolate marking her lip. Her long, pert nose wrinkled, and that freckle low on her cheek folded into the shadow of a dimple.

Megamind pushed out of the chair, sending it flying back to the shadows. He stalked over to the monitors and leaned toward them. One of the brainbots nuzzled his shoulder, crackling electrical concern. Megamind petted it absently.

This idiotic affliction, he thought as his heart skipped in its beats. Somewhere in New Star City Metroman fought another, and all Megamind could think of was the way Roxanne's cheek crumpled when she smiled. He wondered if she'd laced something in her perfume, some sort of mind control toxin, a mesmerizing aerosol—such _cunning_.

"Sir?" Minion ventured.

"Humiliating," Megamind said low to himself, then he rounded on the both of them: Minion with his tray outstretched, Roxanne in her sleek skirt with powdered sugar dotting her collar.

"It's disgraceful, that's what it is," he said. "Here you are serving chocolate pastries to our captive—"

"Oh, but they're so good," Roxanne said. "You have to try one."

"I just thought, it'd be a little rude not to offer." Minion shrugged. "I mean, it's been hours, sir."

Megamind ignored them.

"Meanwhile, Metroman—" He gestured to the monitors. "He's off fighting some nobody punk in a ski mask." He sagged, bowing his head. His collar pinched, tight on his throat. "Have we really fallen so low, Minion?"

Roxanne pressed her fingertips to her lips. She swallowed. "To be fair," she said over her thumb, "you didn't really have far to go." Her mouth crooked as if in apology.

Minion quickly fobbed the tray off on her. "Uh, what Miss Ritchi means to say, sir, is it's not all that bad. I'm sure if we just looked at this from a different perspective—"

"Just think of it as a practice run," Roxanne said around another mouthful. Her cheek puffed. "I do like the bomb hat."

Megamind looked up. She'd tilted her head to one side, as if modeling the helmet before a mirror. He drew near to her. The scent of her perfume, a light spring fragrance, wafted over his skin. Her tongue darted out, catching the dribble of chocolate on her lip.

"Really?" he asked her. His heart did a strange thing in his chest. "You do?"

"It's not what I'd choose to wear," she admitted, "but I think it's quirky."

"Quirky!" he burst. "Quirky? Miss Ritchi, there is a bomb strapped to your head."

"Technically four," Minion added.

"Doesn't that fill you with terror?" Megamind clutched his fists to his chest. "It's so evil! So cruel! So..." He cast about.

"Messy," Minion suggested.

"Explosive!" Megamind shot Minion a flat look.

She winched her mouth up. "Not very subtle, though, is it? And that timer—"

"Miss Ritchi," he said patiently, "I am a supervillain. Subtlety is for interior decorators and self-important, angst-ridden teen poets."

Minion sighed. "Oh, that brings back memories."

Roxanne lit as she did whenever a particularly intriguing clue presented itself. He'd seen that look on her far too often: that avid gleam in her eyes, the soft part of her lips, how she leaned forward, her shirt puckering over her breasts. She hitched her left knee beside her right, and her skirt tightened over the soft suggestion of her backside.

"But that's not important!" Megamind said quickly. "What teenager doesn't write poetry about the meaningless void or whatever it is teenagers write poetry about."

She grinned. "So was it freestyle or...?"

"Lyric poetry, mostly," Minion said. "I really liked his villanelles, and you know how hard it is to write a good villanelle—"

"Minion," Megamind said, dragging it out through his teeth. "Roxanne Ritchi doesn't want to hear about certain individuals whose identities will remain unnamed and their poetry."

"No, I want to hear about it," she said. She turned her brilliant smile on Minion, and Minion, that traitorous evolutionary throwback, smiled toothily back at her.

"Well," he began, "if you ask me, I think he just liked the name. Villanelle, villain—"

"Oh! Minion!" Megamind said loudly. "Where are the drinks? Honestly, how could you forget to bring drinks for our guest?"

Minion paused. He frowned. "But I thought you didn't want me serving refreshments to our captives."

Megamind laughed and pushed Minion back toward the little kitchen appended to the lair. "Well, not if you're going to forget the drinks. I mean, really. Pastries without something to drink? What is that? Come on."

He kicked Minion through the door.

"_Sir_—"

"And don't forget the straws," he called after Minion. He shut the door soundly. Then, gathering his cape so it fluttered darkly from his shoulders, he stalked back to Roxanne. He affected polite disinterest, sneering down his nose. She smiled so her eyes pinched, her lashes very dark at the corners.

"I'm afraid we'll have to postpone today's events, Miss Ritchi," he said, "thanks to Metroman's complete disregard for my schedule." He scowled at the monitors.

"I think I'll survive," Roxanne said. She proffered the tray. Her handcuffs jangled, the chain swaying between her wrists. "Want one? You know, before I eat them all."

Megamind snatched two and retrieved his chair. He collapsed into it, slumping low. He revolved back and forth, swiveling on his heel.

Roxanne nipped at the corner of another pastry. The crust split beneath her teeth. Megamind nibbled at his own spoils. A pair of brainbots scurried across the floor, their claws dangling; they trailed quiet in their wake. Silence rose companiable and sweet.

She threw him a sly look over her pastry. "Villanelles, huh."

"Terrible, horrifying villanelles," he defended, "filled with the pure, corruptive essence of evil."

She nodded. "Yeah, that sounds like a villanelle."

"How unsurprising." He snorted. "Just because it's a challenge, an art form that requires structure as well as creativity—"

"I never said I didn't like villanelles," Roxanne noted lightly. She thumbed the corner of her mouth, then sucked the chocolate and crumbs from her thumb.

He looked to Roxanne, whom he had chained with cuffs on her wrists and manacles on her ankles, Roxanne with the bomb strapped to her head—Roxanne, who scoffed at the lot and ate pastries in his lair as if she were at some sunlit cafe. She smiled, her mouth a rounded blade.

"I suppose you didn't," he said.

Minion hip-checked the door open. Beaming, he emerged from the kitchen, a mug in each hand.

"Who wants hot chocolate?"

"Mm, right here." Roxanne hefted her cuffed hands high, waving. The tray of pastries slid on her lap and she caught it against her thigh.

Minion carried a steaming mug to her. "And you, sir?"

Megamind straightened. "Ah, yes. Thank you, Minion." He took the mug from Minion and turned away again to the monitors. "See to it that Miss Ritchi gets home."

"Of course, sir," Minion said slowly.

Roxanne's voice filled the spaces at Megamind's back: "Do you have a bag? These pastries are so good, I'd hate to waste them."

Megamind stared up at the screens and listened to the staccato trembling of his heart. Something in her perfume, he thought. Some treacherous reporter trick, to creep under his skin, to unsettle him, to make him weak to her influence.

Roxanne called to him: "So I'll see you next week?"

Megamind hunched his shoulders, safe behind the rounded back of his chair.

"You know how he gets," Minion murmured.

A door opened then closed, and Megamind was alone but for the monitors flickering bright before him and the soft hum of the brainbots where they waited in the shadows.


	6. Imagine All the Sugar

Disclaimer: I do not own nor do I claim to own any characters or concepts related to _Megamind_. This is a nonprofit work of fanfiction. This part's named for a line from the song "Absolutely Me" by Caro Emerald—a delightful modern swing tune that I def recommend.

**Note: **Unlike previous parts, this is set _after_ the film.

And so ends my long, personal nightmare! Huge thanks to everyone for reading, reviewing, favoriting, and bearing with me. I'm hugely surprised by but most assuredly pleased with the incredible response I've received with this ridiculous, silly fic. Thank you all so very much for giving it a chance. :) I hope you like this last piece!

* * *

**Moving So Gracious**  
Imagine All the Sugar When I Start to Shake My Hips

* * *

The ballroom, brightly lit and stuffed thick with a veritable who's who of people he didn't care enough about to remember, all of them gleaming in gown or tux and so eager to shake his hand, soon filled. The room was large but the people were many, and the heat of so many bodies pressed so close crept along the back of his neck like a spider clenching about his spine. Megamind pulled at his tie and thought darkly of compromises.

"I'm going to need to see an invitation."

He smiled. "I don't have one. But I'm close, personal friends with the guest of honor, if you wanted to talk to her."

Roxanne nudged him with her hip, her thigh brushing his. She offered him a champagne flute, its slender bell glittering with a rich honeyed vintage and a cascade of fine bubbles. He took it from her, and his fingers slid over her own. Her mouth crooked up.

"Close, personal friends, huh," she murmured. "I'll just have to see about that."

"Well, Miss Ritchi, whatever your prejudices," he said, "I assure you, I've completely reformed. I have no intention of robbing anyone blind."

Roxanne drew near, filling his hips, the arc of his shoulders. She slipped her hand beneath his jacket, her palm warm over his hip. Her earring, a silver twist laid upon her jaw, shone.

"Just like I thought," she said. Her fingers caught on his holster, wound up with his belt and tucked beneath his jacket. "What kind of hero brings a gun to a formal dinner?"

"It's just a precaution." Her thumb trailed over his thigh. He caught his breath. "You know how it is, the life of a hero. Bad guys always trying to crash the party."

"Mm, and make off with the girl," said Roxanne, amused. She stepped back. Her hand ghosted over his belly, then she reached up to smooth her hair back from her eyes. "Your story does check out. But I'll be keeping an eye on you, Megamind."

A crystal chandelier hung behind her, a glittering tower of light and etched crystal. The bulbs set into it shone, and the light caught in her hair, glimmering so her brown hair showed a deep and polished red. Shadowed, her pale eyes were dark, a heavy sea blue to match the blue of her dress and the frothy ruffles that coursed between her breasts. She smiled down at him and the softness of it, the small bow of her lips, the easy curve of her brow: it twisted around his heart like a length of rope.

Megamind tightened his fingers about the flute's stem. He swallowed, and it scraped in his throat.

"Yes," he said. "You do that." Then, inanely: "I'll be here."

Her cheeks rounded, and her lashes, long and very thick, dipped. She'd dusted powder across her face, but her freckles showed through, tiny brown stars scattered over her cheeks. The ballroom was unpleasantly warm, too many people crowded all together in what now proved too small a space, but the nearness of Roxanne washed over him like a cooling shower.

How strange, he thought, that he should be here with her.

He passed the champagne flute from one hand to the other and said, "Roxanne—"

A man at the heart of the room struck a fork to a wine glass. The peal rose, filling the small and crowded spaces of the chamber. Roxanne turned. Her bare shoulder flashed. At the corners of her jaw, her earrings spiraled, catching and throwing out light.

The man spoke: "If everyone would please proceed to their tables, we can begin the evening's work."

Roxanne tipped her head. "C'mon. We're at the front."

She preceded him. She sashayed, her hips rolling; her dress, the skirt shaped like the curl of a tide rushing to shore, clung to her thighs and shimmered. Megamind drank from his glass. The champagne sparked on his tongue.

He followed her.

* * *

He didn't much care for formal dinners or ceremonies, but to see Roxanne, standing upon the dais before the whole of the room, take the delicate globe that was the Ossenberg Investigative Reporting Prize in her hand and smile at the award then out at the crowd— He clapped long after everyone else had stopped.

The master of ceremonies brought the formal portion to a close. "But we invite you to stay and enjoy the music provided by our very own Metro City Jazz Orchestra." He gestured, his arm sweeping out to encompass the small dance floor cleared before the band.

Roxanne turned to Megamind, her face flushed. She cradled the globe in her hands, tight as though it might turn to smoke and flitter away between her fingers.

"Can you believe it? The Ossenberg!" She laughed. Her earrings swung like dancers near her throat. "I can't believe I'm holding this. Oh, my God, it's so heavy."

"I don't know why they didn't give it to you before," he told her. "After that report on the changing migratory patterns of the loons, at least."

"That's very sweet," she said drily, "but I'm pretty sure you're the only person who watched that."

The band stormed into a loud and brassy number, a lone trumpet wailing a sharp counterpoint to the rest. Roxanne rose, pulling her skirt even down her thighs.

"Come on," she shouted over the thundering music. "I want to dance. With you."

How could he say no to such an offer? He took her hand and together they took the floor. The few couples gathered there made room for them, and Roxanne, still clutching her prize, whirled on him. Her dress shivered with her, trembling like an ocean wrapped about her flowing figure.

"I don't really know how to swing," he said.

"That's okay," she said. She set her hand at his back, the prize a weight between his shoulders. She slipped near to him, her soft and ample curves filling his angles, his flat planes. "We'll improvise."

He rested his hand at the small of her back. Very lightly he stroked his fingers down, his pinky sliding to brush the burgeoning swell of her bum.

"Oh, I intend to, Miss Ritchi," he promised.

She smiled, her eyes brilliant. "Stop talking and start dancing."

She rolled her hips and he moved with her, following the ebb and flow of Roxanne as she spun about then with him. Her earrings flashed like silver knives; her skirt twined about her legs.

How strange, he had thought before; but it wasn't strange at all. They fit like pieces, her low curves to his sharp lines; he wanted to slide into her coolness, to wrap about her like her clinging dress. How long had this been coming? A memory came to him then, of another ballroom and another dress, Roxanne with her hair long and her mouth set not in a smile but a scowl as she stood not with but above him.

Now she leaned into him, her mouth warm on his jaw. Megamind wrapped his arm about her waist and drew her near so her thick hips molded to him. Roxanne laughed and pressed her hand and the prize between his shoulders so he fitted to her. Her earring tickled his nose.

"Try to keep up," she whispered into his ear.

The music swallowed them.


End file.
